Page 16 - Fever 1793

CHAPTER FIVE August 24th, 1793
A low voice and soft address are the common indications of a well-bred woman.
The Young Lady Abroad or Affectionate Advice on the Social and Moral Habits of Females, 1777
A week later, sixty-four people had died, though no one seemed quite sure what killed them. Rumors of a fever near the docks snaked through the city. People avoided the shops by the river and came up to our end of High Street, where the air smelled cleaner. They made our strongbox grow delightfully heavy.
There was little time to mourn for Polly. I slaved from dawn until the stars shone: house chores in the morning, serving coffee in the afternoon, and cleaning after supper. Sleep became more precious to me than food. One night, I fell asleep in the necessary and woke with a fervent prayer of thanks that I had not fallen in.
My first chance for escape came eight days after Polly died, as Mother and Grandfather discussed their plans for the day.
“We need extra eggs, hard cheese, pippin apples, and savory. And lemons. I’ll have to go to the market again,” sighed Mother. I concentrated on a hoe cake spread thick with honey.
“You’re too tired, Lucille. Send the child to market,” Grandfather suggested.
I quickly swallowed the hoe cake.
“No, Matilda must stay home. I shall go.” Mother fanned herself with her hand. “It is uncommonly
warm, isn’t it?”
I jumped to my feet.
“Grandfather’s right, you need the rest. Please let me go.”
Mother tapped her finger on the table, a good sign. She was thinking.
Grandfather tried again.
“You’ve fussed for days because you don’t like her serving customers. Let her run the market errands.
It will clear her head. Young people need the outside air.”
The fingers stopped. A bad sign.
“I was thinking of sending her to the country, to the Ludingtons at Gwynedd. You encourage her to go
deeper into town.” Mother frowned.
The Ludingtons? The Ludingtons had a farm with disgusting pigs and dogs that bit. Any place would
be better than the Ludingtons.
Grandfather fed a cracker to King George.
“Must you be so gloomy, woman? You see darkness in every corner. Sending her away—your own
child? You shock me. The Ludingtons aren’t even family. I can’t see the wisdom in that. We’ll have to consider this at some length,” he said, drawing out his pipe.
The considering could take hours. The sun was growing hotter and the larder stood empty.
“If I don’t go soon, everything will be sold or spoiled,” I reminded them. “People don’t stop eating eggs whenever there’s a fever, do they?” I had to get her attention away from that farm.
“The child’s right, Lucille. She’ll be fine. We must accommodate our lives to the fever for a few weeks, but we shan’t overthrow our daily routines. It’s important that we not lose our heads.”
—Hannah More